


Scars

by parshaara



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 19:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17648264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parshaara/pseuds/parshaara
Summary: When you’ve been around each other as long as Vaughn and I have, things tend to get pretty weird. Not weird in the sense that your jeebies are heebied, but more in the sense of “my best friend knows the quality of my last dump based on how long I spent in the bathroom”. Point is, Vaughn has probably seen my ass more often than my mother at this point.((Vaughn comforts Rhys after a rough night))





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone has scars. That weird line on your arm from where you ran across a staple, a perfect circle on the bottom of your foot from the time you stepped on a bottle cap, even the weird spot on your chin where that pimple just didn’t wanna leave. Scars are conversation pieces, bonding experiences, memories.

How many times had they gotten undressed or redressed in front of each other? How many times had they gotten blackout drunk in a hot tub, woke up late and stumbled around in various states of undress? He’s probably seen it hundreds of times, Rhys thought to himself as he nearly held his breath trying not to wake the snoring tangle of limbs that was Vaughn. His ECHO eye calculated the distance between himself and the bathroom, where the bulk of his clothes lay in a heap where he’d discarded them when they’d both stumbled in. It was just far enough that he risked waking sleeping beauty. I should have brushed my teeth came the next intrusive thought. The bed shifted as Vaughn pulled himself into a tight ball, a hermit crab in his shell. It was now or never.   
\--

Hot water cascaded over Rhys’ lanky body; the previous night rolling over his consciousness like a fog. Another day of being subservient to men and women with the IQ of a horse apple. The flutter in his chest when Vaughn grazed his hand as they left the office. The smell of whisky on both of their breaths as their lips met lazily in the glow of the TV. Falling into rumpled sheets. A flash of Vaughn’s hand reaching up along his shoulder blade. Flying backward from the touch, suddenly aware of the line where cybernetics met flesh, long healed but still tender in his mind. He pressed his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. You fucking idiot! he repeated quietly into the stream of water.

\--

Vaughn stretched out under the covers, startled by the void he was sure Rhys had previously occupied. The sound of running water and murmuring from the bathroom, a small comfort. He curled back up, pulling Rhys’ discarded undershirt under his pillow. Try as he might to stay awake, his eyelids betrayed him and he was gripped by a thin twilight sleep. Behind the bathroom door Rhys slid to the shower floor, determined to run out the hot water.

\--

Water pelted his skin, the sting of the cold long dulled. He didn’t want you. You got him drunk. You laid in his bed. Each thought brought the heels of his hands against his temples. He couldn’t face Vaughn. Not as a gross, inhuman thing. Why had he done this to himself? This wasn’t buying the newest phone, or making sure your car was a current model year. He’d permanently altered his body for nothing more than keeping up with (and getting ahead of) the curve. His feelings welled up in his throat and came out as one long howl. Water continued to pelt his back.

\--

Vaughn’s eyes shot open. “Rhys?” he called with just a hint of urgency. When the howling continued he flung himself from the bed, bracing for the worst. “Rhys…” he whined as he tried the bathroom doorknob, “I’m coming in”. He padded over to the shower where his best friend sat sobbing, blood running between his fingers. Without a word he turned off the water and plucked a fluffy yellow towel from the cabinet, wrapping it gently around Rhys shoulders and patting him dry. As he touched the spot where Rhys’ cybernetic arm joined his flesh, he winced, the source of the blood becoming apparent. Not again… Vaughn thought to himself, remembering the last internal conflict Rhys had battled with his enhancements. He tried to claw it off again. He bit his lip to keep himself together as he wiped the blood from the larger man’s hands. Despite the near one-foot size difference between them and the added weight of Rhys’ prosthetic, he managed to get him to his feet and drag him to the bed. Wordlessly he tucked Rhys in and after ferreting around for some semblance of clothing, disappeared to the kitchen.

\--

Rhys stared at the ceiling. The fan circled over his head, a slow “vrm, vrm, vrm” with each cycle. The smell of coffee crossed his senses. He could easily use his echo eye to locate Vaughn, who was almost guaranteed to be wearing at least his smartwatch. Instead he fixed his gaze on the ceiling. He clenched and unclenched his robot arm. It was still there. It would always be there. He pinged Vaughn’s watch, hoping it was still on silent. 

\-- 

“Do you remember when you first woke up?” Vaughn said, barely lifting his head from Rhys’ chest. He traced his fingertips along the cold metal. Rhys shook his head “Barely”.   
“We went back to our dorm. You slept for almost three straight days,” he smiled, “You were so scared to let me see your shoulder socket even though you couldn’t reach to take care of it” he caressed the projector in Rhys’ palm. “You were so insistent on doing everything for yourself”. He felt Rhys relax into the bed, then a soft warmth on his face as Rhys cupped his cheek. 

\--   
There were plenty of things Rhys missed about having two people arms. Namely feeling. Through his slit eyes he could see the flit of Vaughn’s fingers against the metal, hell he could hear it to a point. But it would never be the same as the static buzz he felt when touched anywhere else on his body. Even still, as Vaughn’s chewed short nails tinked against his arm he didn’t pull away, just slacked his body, ready to be gripped by sleep again. With his “good” hand, he cupped Vaughan’s cheek, stroking the wisp of stubble budding.


End file.
